Forgive Me Father

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Looks like hearsay mostly, but it claims to be from an actual victim, going by the username ‘Victimnomore’. The allegations date from 2004 or 2005, and name Saint Andrew’s school in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘That’s a year or so before Father Nolan took early retirement from there on the grounds of ill health. What does the victim allege?’ asked Warren.

  ‘He claims that he sang in the school choir and that Father Nolan would sometimes take him and other boys away for the weekend to sing in competitions. At the time it happened, he says that his parents were alcoholics and physically abused him and his sister. Father Nolan was very kind to him and he was flattered by the attention. When he got into trouble at school over a playground fight, he says Father Nolan intervened and stopped him being expelled. Of course, he now realises that he was never going to be expelled, the fight wasn’t serious enough.’

  ‘Classic grooming,’ muttered Sutton. ‘Pick on the most vulnerable and show them the love that they crave.’

  ‘It looks that way. Anyway, he said that the abuse happened twice. The first time, he was waiting backstage for a competition to start. He was on his own as he was singing a solo. He was nervous and he said Father Nolan had come backstage to try and calm him down. As they were talking, he placed his hand on his knee and asked him if he had a girlfriend. The boy was a bit embarrassed and confused, as he was only twelve at the time. Father Nolan then started mumbling something about how he had never wanted a girlfriend, but that the priesthood could be very lonely. He thinks he may have been drunk.

  ‘They called his name to get ready and he said that Father Nolan stood up really quick and seemed very flustered. Looking back on it, he reckons Father Nolan was trying to hide an erection.’

  ‘Christ,’ whispered Sutton.

  ‘The second time was more serious and took place on a weekend trip to Blackpool about six months later. There were an odd number of boys in the choir so most of them were paired up to share a room, except for the poster.’

  Warren closed his eyes briefly; it was all too clear where the story was leading.

  ‘The boys all went to their rooms about ten o’clock. A few hours later – he isn’t sure exactly as he fell asleep – he woke up and found Father Nolan sitting on the end of his bed. He was so scared he didn’t move. He then alleges that he felt Father Nolan’s hand move under the covers and start stroking his crotch. It was then that he realised that Father Nolan was also pleasuring himself.’

  ‘Bastard,’ muttered Ruskin.

  ‘Anyway, he must have moved or made a noise, as Nolan stopped what he was doing and jumped up and fled the room. Again, he thinks that Nolan had been drinking.

  ‘The following day, Father Nolan cornered him and told him not to talk about it to anyone. He said that he’d been able to feel how much the lad had enjoyed it. When the boy said he was going to tell his parents, Father Nolan had told him that if he did nobody would believe him and that he’d be kicked out of the school. Remember, he’d already convinced the victim that he had the power to stop him being expelled, it wasn’t too hard to convince him that the opposite was true.’

  ‘So what happened between the alleged incident and Father Nolan retiring? Assuming the dates are correct, there is a time lag of up to two years,’ asked Warren.

  ‘The poster alleges that Father Nolan tried to avoid him wherever possible. When his voice broke later that year, he left the choir and stopped serving on the altar and that was the last he spoke to Father Nolan. However, he claimed that it was open knowledge that Father Nolan liked a drink and that, eventually, he retired to some retirement home for priests.’

  ‘There’s the link. There aren’t many priest retirement homes, I’m sure it couldn’t have taken much detective work to track him down,’ said Sutton.

  ‘None at all. On the twelfth of April 2014 a different user, named Angryman80, simply asked for the name of the home, to which Victimnomore replied the “Middlesbury priest retirement home” – obviously, he must have meant St Cecil’s.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Well, let’s list both users as potential suspects. I suppose it’s a bit much to hope that either of them filled in any personal information on their profile?’

  ‘No, sorry. We can’t even be certain of their gender.’

  ‘I presume that requesting their IP address from the website, so we can narrow down their physical location, is a non-starter?’

  ‘I’ll speak to IT, but the website is physically hosted in Bulgaria and everyone posts anonymously, I doubt they’ll pay any attention to a court order.’

  ‘OK, well get the Social Media Intelligence Unit to see if they can build a profile from their posts and interactions on the site. Their usernames are distinctive, see if it they appear anywhere else on the internet.’

  Warren used a marker pen to scrawl the two usernames into the suspect column on the whiteboard.

  ‘Is there anything else on the site of any interest?’ asked Sutton.

  ‘Potentially, but without direct access to their archives, Social Media Intelligence are limited to the site’s own search facility. They are already concerned they may be blocked for suspicious activity if their searches lead to an unexpected spike in site traffic.’

  ‘Well, do what you can,’ said Warren. ‘See if there are any references to St Cecil’s retirement home or Father Daugherty.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve some bad news,’ said Pymm. ‘More people might know about the original abbey murders than we thought.’ Pymm projected a Word document on the screen.

  ‘I found this on the memory stick Vernon Coombs’ daughter gave us.’ She scrolled to the top of the document, highlighting the title.

  ‘Murder and cover-ups: The dark history of Middlesbury Abbey,’ read Sutton out loud.

  ‘They appear to be notes from a public lecture he gave to the Friends of Middlesbury Abbey. The file creation date was July last year.’

  ‘Damn. Depending on who was in attendance, that could really widen the suspect list. How much detail does it contain?’ asked Warren.

  ‘The notes are only bullet points, so it’s hard to tell exactly what he shared with the audience, but he does mention the death bed confession given by Simon Scrope.’

  ‘Which means that the details of the murders that inspired the killings of Fathers Nolan and Daugherty were in the public domain,’ said Ruskin.

  ‘According to his notes, he finished up with a question and answer session, so who knows what else he revealed?’ said Pymm.

  ‘I don’t suppose he had a list of attendees?’ asked Warren hopefully.

  ‘No. And neither do the Friends of Middlesbury Abbey,’ she said. ‘I looked them up online, and spoke to the secretary of the organisation. He said the talk was hosted in the chapel, and was fairly well attended, both by members of the society as well as a fair number of local priests, including some from the retirement home, even a couple of the sisters.’

  ‘Any idea who they were?’

  ‘He can’t recall. He thinks Bishop Fisher was there and Deacon Baines, plus a few others. I’ve downloaded the members list for the Friends of Middlesbury Abbey, so we can cross-check with our records.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he remembers if Rodney Shaw was there?’ asked Sutton.

  ‘He is listed as a member of the society, so he may have been, but when I asked if any members of the abbey staff were in attendance, he couldn’t remember. To be fair, it was eight or nine months ago.’

  Warren looked across the room at the suspects’ board. Rodney Shaw’s headshot stared back at him. Why couldn’t they clear that man?

  Chapter 54

  Moray Ruskin’s expression told Warren that all wasn’t well.

  ‘Come in, Moray. Take a chair and tell me what the problem is.’

  Ruskin sagged into the visitor’s chair opposite Warren’s desk.

  ‘They’ve found Lucas Furber.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In a derelict garage on the Wheatsheaf estate.
It’s sometimes used as a squat by homeless people. Looks like a drugs overdose.’

  ‘Who found him?’

  ‘They aren’t sure. There was an anonymous call to 999 from someone claiming to have found the body. It sounds as though he’s been dead for some time.’

  ‘Bugger, he was our best lead.’ Warren stopped. ‘Sorry, that was a bit insensitive, are you OK?’

  Ruskin let out a puff of air.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being silly. I didn’t even know the guy.’

  ‘But you felt like you did,’ supplied Warren. ‘You’ve spent ages tracking him down, trying to learn about him. It’s natural that you became attached to him.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s more than that. What if I helped cause his death?’

  ‘Moray, you can’t think like that.’

  ‘I know, I know. But I’ve been stomping around town in my size thirteens asking who’s seen him. Maybe word got back to him that the police were looking for him and he, I dunno, decided to end it?’

  ‘I doubt that. If that was the case, he’d probably just lie low or disappear. And if he was involved in the murders, then you can hardly hold yourself responsible for his guilty conscience.’

  ‘What if he was an accomplice to the murders, and my poking around meant that the other killer decided he was a liability?’

  ‘Again, not your fault.’

  Ruskin sighed again; he still didn’t look convinced.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Of course there could be another explanation.’

  Ruskin looked hopeful.

  ‘He could just be a drug addict who took an overdose.’

  * * *

  The garage where Lucas Furber’s body had been found was one of a half-dozen on the edge of the Wheatsheaf estate.

  ‘The garages were originally assigned to a block of flats. When the flats were condemned and knocked down, the garages were abandoned.’ Tony Sutton pointed towards a building site nearby.

  ‘The original flats are being replaced with a mixed-usage residential and business complex, due to open in about eighteen months. The garages will be flattened and a car park built on the site, but that phase isn’t due to start until next year.’

  Warren and Ruskin had met Sutton at the end of the road leading to the garages. The three men walked up to the police tape.

  ‘You’ll need to wear a suit if you want to go any further, sirs,’ warned the constable holding the clipboard with the scene log.

  ‘We can see what we need to from here,’ said Sutton.

  The garage where Furber had been found was the third from the left. The metal up-and-over garage door had been propped up, so that white-suited technicians could easily move in and out.

  ‘The site is supposed to be secure, but there’s a hole in the fencing. Local residents have been complaining for months that it was being used by rough sleepers and needed to be fixed, but apparently the developers didn’t do anything about it.’

  ‘How did he get into the garage?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘The locks are pretty old, they’ve all been broken open,’ said Sutton.

  ‘Were the other units in use?’ asked Warren.

  ‘It looks like they might have been once. Two at the end have even had the wall knocked through to make one big unit. I guess who ever lived there must be a fan of DIY TV shows.’

  ‘Any suggestion as to how long ago they were occupied? If there were others living here, then they might be witnesses,’ said Ruskin.

  ‘It’s hard to say. The CSIs are bagging food packaging and rubbish to see if anything has a date on it we can use, but most of them have leaking rooves, so they might have been abandoned some time ago. I’ve been on the phone to the rough sleeping unit, and they reckon that there aren’t many that sleep down here, because there are better spots closer to the soup kitchen, and there’s a problem with rats. I saw one earlier; damn thing was the size a small dog, I thought it was going to attack one of the CSIs.’

  ‘Makes you wonder why Furber opted to sleep down here then,’ said Warren.

  ‘I’ll ask the rough sleepers unit, they’re the experts.’

  ‘What about CCTV?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Doubtful. The only cameras we’ve tracked down are on the building site, to stop thieves. None of them cover this area and there’s no reason to walk past them to get here.’

  ‘The locals complained about rough sleepers, so maybe somebody saw Furber coming in and out. Maybe they saw someone with him?’ the Scotsman suggested.

  Warren sincerely hoped so. So far, Friday the thirteenth had mostly brought bad luck; they could do with some more leads.

  Saturday 14th March

  Chapter 55

  Moray Ruskin had insisted that he wanted to attend Lucas Furber’s autopsy. Warren decided to go along with him; the death had hit the young probationer hard, and Warren was concerned about him. It was a decision he regretted almost the moment they arrived at the morgue. He’d completely forgotten that it was Granddad Jack’s birthday party that afternoon. Now he’d have to get changed again before he jumped in the car with Susan for the journey back to Coventry.

  ‘He was dead for some time, and the body has been disturbed by wildlife,’ warned Professor Jordan. Warren decided a second shower might also be in order before Susan picked him up.

  The body on the gurney looked like a poor Hollywood prop. The skin was a dark, bloodless grey, slightly puffy from the early stages of decomposition that Warren’s nose told him was taking place. The body was nude, and it was clear to see that Furber had been malnourished. In addition to his prominent ribs, the man’s pelvis was clearly outlined, and his knees were the same width as his upper thighs.

  Mercifully, the Y incision had been completed and the chest sewn back up before Warren and Ruskin had arrived.

  Often the recently deceased looked peaceful. In the case of Furber, it was impossible to tell; Ryan’s warning about wildlife held true.

  ‘Poor bastard.’

  Ruskin’s voice behind his mask was thick-tongued. Warren looked at him with concern, but the burly Scotsman showed no signs of being ill.

  ‘They go for the soft, exposed flesh first,’ said Jordan. ‘Fortunately he was wearing tight-fitting underwear and jeans. Rats can crawl through the smallest of gaps.’

  ‘They only go for dead bodies, right?’

  ‘Not always, if the person is deeply unconscious, they might take an exploratory nip. If they don’t get swatted away, then they might carry on.’

  ‘Jesus. He wasn’t …’

  Jordan took pity on the young constable.

  ‘No, he was quite dead, when they started.’ He pointed at the hole where Furber’s nose had been. ‘No blood.’

  Ruskin said nothing behind his mask, but his shoulders relaxed.

  ‘Any indication of cause of death?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Almost certainly an overdose of opiates. I’ll know more when I get the toxicology results back, but he was found with a needle and syringe still inserted in his left median cubital vein. The remains of the drug inside the syringe tested positive for opiates. Again, we’ll know more about the specifics of the drug when I get the results back.’

  Jordan turned the inside of the man’s arm over. A small hole was visible at the crook of his elbow, surrounded by what appeared to be dark blood.

  ‘He passed out with the needle still in his arm, which caused the tearing you see.’

  Jordan pointed to a discoloured band of skin around the bicep. ‘Marks from the tourniquet. It was still attached, although loosened when he was found.’

  ‘Was he a habitual user?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Certainly in the past. There are scars on the inside of both elbows, as well as dotted around his body.’

  ‘But nothing recent?’

  ‘Not that I could find.’

  ‘So why did he start using again?’ asked Ruskin.

  It was a rhetorical question, and nobody answered.

 
‘What else have you found?’ asked Warren.

  ‘He was malnourished and in poor health, obviously. In addition, he had scrapes and bruises, but nothing that stands out. There was a significant volume of what appears to be super strength lager in his stomach, although I won’t know his blood alcohol levels until the results come back from the lab.’

  ‘Any indication that he had been restrained, or beaten?’

  ‘No. At this stage, it looks to me like an accidental overdose; not uncommon in recovering addicts, especially if they have drunk a lot.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘That’s a bit more tricky. Some time ago, obviously, you can tell by the fact that he has started to decompose. Other than that, I can’t tell. The weather has been cold, but he was well sheltered in that garage and wrapped up warmly, with decent clothes and quite a thick sleeping bag.’

  ‘What about maggot larvae?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Eggs will have been laid pretty much as soon as he died. We could get a forensic entomologist in to have a look.’

  It was a good suggestion, but Warren doubted DSI Grayson would be willing to authorise the expense for what appeared to be a simple overdose. Forensic entomology worked on the principle that flying insects such as blow flies laid their eggs on dead bodies, within hours of death. The eggs then developed over the course of the next few days, weeks or even months to hatch into juvenile flies.

  The individual developmental stages of the larvae’s growth were well-characterised and the process was temperature-dependent. As long as the temperature of the area where the body had lain was known, a forensic entomologist could obtain a fairly accurate indication of when the deceased died.

  The problem was the cost. Forensic entomologists were typically employed as freelance consultants who usually held a day job at a university or other research institute. Furthermore, there was always a backlog of cases.

  However, if they could narrow down when Furber died it could potentially rule him out of Father Daugherty or even Father Nolan’s deaths and answer once and for all his role in recent events. But was the expense justified, when other methods might be just as accurate, at a fraction of the expense?